


Tangerines

by Inell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ficlet, Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-12
Updated: 2006-01-12
Packaged: 2018-10-26 08:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10783077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inell/pseuds/Inell
Summary: Hermione has a craving





	Tangerines

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: For [](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=florahart)[**florahart**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/florahart/)’s ABC Challenge. Word was tangerine  


* * *

She had never particularly cared for tangerines in the past. They were tart, slightly bitter, and lingered on her tongue long after she’d eaten them, which she found rather annoying. Oranges weren’t so bad, just a bit of sweetness to balance the bitter. Tangerines, though, were something she had always avoided.  
  
Needless to say, it came as quite a surprise to find herself craving tangerines on this bright summer afternoon. The sun was high overhead, sweat trickling down the back of her simple cotton sundress, the ice in her lemonade long melted, and she couldn’t recall ever wanting anything quite as much as she wanted _that_ tangerine.  
  
Long fingers held it, curling around the not quite round fruit, tight but not too tight, careful not to bruise the red-orange flesh. It was all too easy to imagine those fingers holding her breast, squeezing, strong but gentle, thumb brushing along her nipple as it was currently rubbing the fruit. Brown eyes followed the path of tangerine juice down a freckled wrist, continuing a journey past a muscular arm and broad shoulder, distracted by the bare chest, covered with freckles, burns, and a scattering of ginger hair.  
  
Vivid ink covered one hip, disappearing into the waist of tattered blue jeans that fit well, molding long legs and a firm arse. Shortest child of seven, still taller than her by half a head, stocky, muscular, strong. She’d never noticed him, really, until this summer. Until the tangerines. Every afternoon, sitting in the hot rays of the sun, she’d drink her lemonade and he’d eat a tangerine. No, eat was the wrong word. He would peel the fruit, licking his fingers in a way that made her knickers damp, putting each slice between full lips, moaning as he bit and devoured the lucky tangerine.  
  
She wanted to be devoured like that, to have him open her and lick and nibble and moan until he’d consumed her. Then she wanted to devour him, lick the dragon on his hip, kiss every single freckle that covered his tan skin, and not stop until she was sated. He’d asked her, that first lazy afternoon, if she wanted a slice. Stupidly, she’d not even looked up from her book as she told him she didn’t like tangerines. Now, she had never wanted anything quite this desperately.  
  
Her dreams were filled with images of him eating that damn fruit, worshipping it with his tongue, teasing her and smirking as he watched her aroused reaction. And when she woke up, aching and wet, she could _almost_ taste it, taste him. He’d spend the afternoons talking to her while the others were busy, conversations about everything and anything. She liked talking to him, finding him far more intelligent than she’d honestly given him credit. Normally the quieter of the Weasleys, letting the others have attention, watching and caring for them, solid, strong. And he seemed to love tangerines.  
  
Licking her lips as she watched him peel another slice off, the juice covering his palm, his arm sticky sweet, she couldn’t contain the soft moan from escaping her lips as he languidly brought the slice to his lips and moved it along them, wetting them with the juice of the fruit before slowly, carefully, sensually devouring the slice.  
  
“Would you like some, Hermione?”  
  
His words caught her by surprise, her cheeks turning red as she saw the knowing gleam in his green eyes, his lips curving into a sexy smirk. Tempted to look away and act as if nothing had happened, knowing it was the smart choice, the right choice, recalling all the reasons why she should _not_ be lusting after her best friend’s older brother, she found that she couldn’t look away. Instead of hiding behind her books, as she had been doing for more years than she cared to admit, she reminded herself that she was nineteen years old, a woman who had survived a War and deserved to take risks sometimes.  
  
Before she lost her newfound courage, she stood up and walked towards him. His eyes followed her, a hungry look in them that was not for the fruit he was holding, finally reaching his side. Placing her hand over his, she leaned down, her eyes not leaving his as she licked his wrist. He groaned softly, that one sound all she needed to know that he wanted what she wanted.  
  
Smiling, she leaned forward and kissed him, moaning when he dropped the tangerine, his fingers tangling in her hair as he pulled her onto his lap. Tangerines mixed with Charlie Weasley, she discovered, were sweet, delicious, and something she never wanted to stop tasting.  



End file.
